


The Prince with Eight Crowns

by myrskytuuli



Series: Hetalia avengers short stories [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:22:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrskytuuli/pseuds/myrskytuuli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra knows that eventually he will rule the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince with Eight Crowns

To those who study occult, understand occult, many mysteries in this world are opened and many questions answered. Still, even for those that became masters, who not only knew but understood the occult, there were mysteries that would forever defy everything they knew to be true and challenged the world that they thought that they had mastered.

Nations were one of those things. The existence of nations was something that had driven more than one man into insanity and forever existed on the peripheral of possible things. Most of the time it was easier for those with no knowledge of occult to accept the nation avatars, than it was for those who had spent their life studying the impossible. They were the epitome of impossibility and what was worse, if you brought this fact up with one of them, they would laugh. They would laugh and point out that even they didn’t know how they had come to being. Then they would go about their day, doing something utterly mundane like eating a sandwich or doing the dishes.

But there were some things that were agreed on about this impossible group of beings and it was that war was like a breeding ground for them. With enough blood on the soil, new ones seemed to pop up and die at equal measure. Therefore it maybe should have been expected when the little boy wandered in and tugged at coattails of Johann Schmidt. The boy had almost unnaturally pale hair and eyes that were reddish brown, with the red seeming, in right lighting, to become more clear than brown. 

There are soldiers in there that are spluttering and outraged and baffled at how a child had found its way inside the secret meeting room. Johann Schmidt is none of these things. He is high enough in the political hierarchy that he has met both Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt. He believes that once aliens walked on this earth and left behind a cube that would grant all of his wishes. He believes in lots of things and he believes in this little child that looks up at him like he hung the moon on the sky.

“Hail Hydra!” He calls and picks up the child. The child laughs, a perfect and innocent laugh.

 

Humans have many kinds of misconceptions about the nations. Either they cannot comprehend their inhumanity, having trouble believing their healing abilities, fearing their strength, having trouble wrapping their head around their connection to their land, people and history.

On the other side, some people cannot accept their humanity. They get uncomfortable every time a nation shows their emotions, get thrown of the loop by every papercut and every complaint of boredom. They find it even harder to accept that these beings form friendships and feel the same scale of human emotion as any of their citizens.

It is a select few people in history who have been able to comprehend both sides of these beings. To understand that at the same time they had blood of millions on their hands and at the same time there had never been a nation-avatar born truly twisted, that on some levels they never truly succumbed into true evil. As long as even one of their citizen had a decent heart, there would be a spark of kindness in the nation-avatar.

Hydra was a sweet child, but he was also a war-child and nations knew that war-borns were better of killed while they were still small and weak. Otherwise they might bleed you dry like parasites. Prussia knew this when Hydra approached him. Prussia had killed of his fair share of states over the centuries, but Prussia had also cried himself hoarse when The Holy Roman Empire had been dissolved. Maybe he had become old or maybe it was this war that had forced the stench of death deep into his bones, but he didn’t kill the child where he stood when meeting Hydra. Instead he looked at the child with eyes too tired and ruffled its hair. “I’ll fix you up a room.” He had said.

Hydra had looked up at Prussia with nothing but adoration in his gaze. “When I grow up, I want to be just like you, big brother.”

Prussia had a little brother already, and he was dying, coughing up ashes while his boss strangled him into a half-dead monstrosity. Sometimes it seemed that all of Prussia’s life was watching his little brother dying.

“We’re not brothers,” he told Hydra. “Germany is my only brother.” There was a hungry gleam in the child’s eyes that Prussia recognized. Hydra saw Prussia as the ultimate war-mongrel to emulate, Hydra was a stupid child that thought that they were going to win this war. (That they should win this war) Still Prussia did not do the dirty job with his own hands, but left the war-council to give Hydra status as an independent organization that the German’s did not need to take care of. He was just delegating the death of the child to the fates.

 

Johan Schmidt comforted Hydra after he had been rejected by the other nation. “It is because you are better than them.” He would whisper to his beloved Hydra. “You were meant to rule over them all, not gain their affection. That is your destiny.” Hydra believed, because that was what he had been born to do. Hydra had been born to believe that he should rule the world. Not an uncommon belief amongst his kind, but not a belief that had left many of his kind survive either.

Hydra was a child bathed in blood from the first, not unlike Prussia had once been. But Hydra was born into a world after the idea of a total war, into a world already so full, and he loved his daddy too much to ever grow. Physically Hydra never aged past boyhood and how could he have. He had no economy, no culture, no art, no land and no trade. These were all things that gave one maturity, which Hydra never gained. He stayed a child, grasping onto his dying caretakers, downloading Arnim Zola’s mind into the hard-drive so he could keep it with him forever. He keeps his toys that he has stolen from others tightly by his leash, winter soldier being his favourite just because he stole it from America.

Hydra hates America more than he hates the others. Prussia is nothing anymore, Germany was scared into a peace-seeking fool, both utterly unimportant to him after he broke free from both of them. He has hidden in Russia’s home long enough to know that the giant is in reality weak and broken and soft. But America, America he hates because his captain killed Hydra’s daddy. And for that America would one day pay. Everyone would of course bow, but America would suffer the most.

Hydra hid in dank basements and stole scraps from the tables of real nations and build underground laboratories, knowing that eventually he would rise into his true glory. The dank basements were just a phase that seemed to drag on for decades.

Hydra is a weak and sickly child, but he keeps on living. SHIELD does not have a personification, because SHIELD agents still hold their motherland in their hearts. Hydra doesn’t allow that for those that join him.

Hydra uses his people like paper-wipes, disgracing them with a flick of his hand and keeps telling his ever smaller base of followers how the promised day draws ever nearer. He likes to paint crayon drawings of the future where he sits on the throne of the earth and on the corner a bright yellow sun smiles down at him.

 He is not an utterly evil child, but he will be killed of eventually. The heroes will tick off the evil henchmen and even the moderately bad henchmen and even the average henchmen, until one day a gun will be pressed against his small head and some real nation will pull the trigger.

(It will be Prussia. The kid was our- no my responsibility to begin with. He will say. I’ve killed states before. Hydra will scream and cry and beg. How are you still alive, I don’t understand how did you go on after your ideology died-please tell me-save me-. I changed. You are not capable of doing that.)

 


End file.
